I'm Only Sleeping
by Hoshi Nagaiki
Summary: A collection of two Beatles dreams I've had and a short drabble.
1. Dream 1: The Convention

I'm Only Sleeping

By Hoshi Nagaiki

A/N- Well, I had this dream a while back, after my anime convention escapades, and I told my bestest friend in the whole universe/boyfriend that I'd type it out and so here I am. I'm also thinking that maybe I'll post a few more of my Beatles-related dreams on here since I tend to have them every once in a while. -coughcough- Okay, a little more than once in a while. Enjoy ! ^.^

Dream One

The Convention

I slammed down my controller and stalked out of the dark room that was lit only by the many glowing screens. Sometimes, I couldn't stand video games. Mostly because I sucked at them, even Beatles Rockband and I played that on a daily basis. I just don't have any hand eye-coordination and that severely limits me in video games. . . . Yes, that's my excuse and it always will be; it was my excuse for dropping out of softball too.

On the way out, a pimply twenty something year old guy with dark hair and a bright blue polo shirt handed me a survey card. I grudgingly grabbed a chewed up pen from a metal container on the desk located conveniently next to the exit and began to fill out the survey.

"Name?" it asked. I scribbled 'Megan' as illegibly as possible. It was always funny when they sent you mail and your name was misspelled. One of my potential colleges sent packages to a 'Nazon', who I guessed was me.

I sighed. There was only so much I could do to entertain myself. I wondered why I had agreed to come to this stupid gaming convention in the first place. Well, actually, I knew why. His arms pulled me into a hug.

"You can go back to your game, Jonathon. I just need a break; I died within the first two seconds the last twenty-six times."

After being with Jonathon for almost two years, I knew him pretty well and I knew how much he wanted to continue to play the brand new game they had running in the screen-packed room. It was a long awaited sequel and wouldn't be revealed again to the public for another six months. This could be the only way to satiate his video game thirst. And, I did not want to deal with that thirst later.

"No, it's okay," Jonathon said as he took a survey from the geeky guy in the Best Buy-like polo. He ruffled my already messy brown hair. "I'll just hang out with you."

I grabbed the pen container before he could grab a pen. "Go," I urged him. "I know you want to. I'll just walk around the Dealer's Room aimlessly for a while; I don't mind."

"All by yourself?"

I rolled my eyes. Even my boyfriend treated me like a child sometimes. "Yes, all by myself."

Jonathon glanced back at the room with the many video game filled screens, his brown eyes staring longingly at it, and then he turned back to me. "You sure you'll be okay?"

I nodded and handed the survey to the guy who was now messing with one of those little Poke ball game things that everyone at these conventions carries around. Honestly, I had no clue what you do with those tiny Poke ball things, but whatever it was, it distracted him so much that he didn't even look up at me when he took the survey card.

"Have fun!" I told Jonathon as I walked to the door.

He kissed me on the cheek, his dark brown bangs almost hitting my eye. "See you later," he said and scurried back to video game land.

As I strolled around the halls of the convention, searching half-heartedly for the Dealer Room, I saw a sign that grabbed my immediate and focused attention. I could have sworn it said the name, 'Paul McCartney.' I was probably wrong, though. It had happened more than once that I had thought I'd seen something related to the Beatles, rushed over, and found, to my utter disappointment, it had nothing to do with anything.

I read the sign a second time and still saw 'Paul McCartney'. Maybe, I needed new glasses because there's no way Paul McCartney could be here. He had much better things to do than attend some lowly video game convention for no reason at all. Besides, I would have known he was here. The convention would have advertised it; everyone in the state would know.

Then, I saw the roaring crowd. A humongous group of people had swarmed around an even bigger sign that flashed his name in bright, neon colors. I wondered briefly how he could breathe in that mass of bodies and then, I realized I couldn't breathe. I felt like one of those girls on the Beatlemania videos that you see being carried away by the EMTs. Surely, I was going to faint or pass out. Wait, isn't that the same thing? My thoughts were jumbled. I screamed because I couldn't think of anything else to do.

I ran into the endless multitude of people just as excited as I was who were hoping just to at least glimpse the 'cute Beatle'. My heart raced and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I pushed my way through the deafening crowd mosh pit style. Apparently, Paul McCartney didn't have anything better to do. . . .

After heartlessly shoving older women and little children, I ended up staring into the hazel eyes of the one and the only Sir Paul McCartney. Okay, now I was definitely going to faint. I clutched onto the metal table in front of me so I wouldn't die right there. That would be really embarrassing. And, there was no way I was going to humiliate myself in front of Paul McCartney.

Paul seemed accustomed to my reaction. He smiled and waited patiently as I regained whatever I was losing—my mind, my consciousness, my life. Maybe, even all three. I don't know. I just definitely know I wasn't all there when I saw him.

Suddenly, the horde of fans, or slime balls who just wanted to make money off his autograph, disappeared. Maybe, it was all in my twisted head but I was alone with the Paul McCartney. He was older than he usually was in my dreams but that didn't matter.

"Hi," I muttered shyly.

"Hello, luv. Was there something you wanted me to sign?" He still wore that charming, patient smile, the one that made me want to melt at his feet.

I blushed and nodded, reaching into my favorite pink and purple Harry Potter bag. Though I hadn't been prepared to meet Paul McCartney today, I had to be carrying something Beatles-related in my bag. I almost always was.

But, there was nothing. All I had were the stupid papers for the convention, a black concert t-shirt, money, food . . . . And then, as I dug through all that crap, I found the perfect thing that I didn't even know I had: a Beatles cookbook! On the cover, all four Beatles were pictured wearing aprons and carrying random kitchen utensils like spatulas, frying pans, overly huge knives. . . .

Paul burst out laughing when I placed it in front of him, causing my heart to beat at an impossible rate. "Where did you find this?" He asked as he grabbed his Sharpie.

"In my bag," I said in a whisper so low I might as well have not said anything. I still couldn't believe I was actually talking to Paul McCartney! Paul McCartney!

He opened the book and signed the inside cover on a grinning picture of his twenty two year old self about to empty a bag of flour on John's head. "There you go," he said as he handed the book back to me. "I have to go now, luv," he told me. All I heard was 'luv' and the light-headed feeling that comes right before fainting passed over me again. "Thanks for stopping by." The sixty-eight year old Paul McCartney stood up and let a bodyguard escort him out. For a second, I watched him leave with what I imagined was a stupid, dazed look.

Then, I'm not sure what came over me, but I followed him. Sneakily, of course. I hid behind the fake plants that garnered the convention hotel and listened to Paul McCartney chat with the bodyguard about some fancy restaurant I'd never heard of. Nobody noticed I was following.

He exited the hotel through the sliding glass doors and just when I thought it was safe to follow, I heard my name.

"Megan! Where were you?"When I turned around, Jonathon threw his arms around me as if he hadn't seen me in years. "What have you been doing?"

My eyes shifted from side to side and I whispered, "I'm stalking Paul McCartney."

He rolled his eyes. Sometimes, my addiction with the Beatles annoyed him, especially when I went into crazy fan girl mode like now. "Don't you think that's a bit overly obsessive?"

"I'm just curious, okay?" I snapped defensively. He was right; this was kind of psycho of me, but then again, it was Paul McCartney! What else was I supposed to do?

Jonathon sighed and grumbled, "I'll cover for you."

I squeezed him tightly. "Thank you so much!"

With that, I hurried through the shiny sliding glass doors, knowing full well I'd have a restraining order with the beautiful signature of Paul McCartney hanging in my bedroom soon.

End of Dream One.

A/N- Yep, that's where I woke up. So, what did you think? Pretty weird, huh? Especially, the Beatles cookbook. Do you guys dream about the Beatles as well? Please tell me I'm not the only crazily-obsessed one!


	2. Dream 2: The Creature of the Afternoon

I'm Only Sleeping

By Hoshi Nagaiki

A/N: Okay, so I kinda dreamed this. I was like half-awake, half-asleep. There was more to the dream, but it didn't really fit with this first part so I didn't write it down. I may write some more later or even flesh it out into a full story. But, that's all up to you guys :D

Timeline: Beatles return to Hamburg, 1966

Dream Two

The Creature of the Afternoon

Paul McCartney awoke to the sound of a vicious growl. He sucked in as much air as possible and forced his crusted eyes to open. A white wall and a mess of beige sheets lay in his direct vision.

Another growl reverberated behind him, this time more raucous than the last. Whatever it was it was definitely hungry. Paul's heart palpitated in his chest cavity, and he desperately hoped the creature couldn't sense fear.

When another guttural growl rang through the air, Paul decided that if he had any chance of survival he'd have to fight the ravenous creature. In one brusque motion, he twisted around in the bed sheets, sitting straight up, and tossing his pillow in the direction of the noise.

However, his actions were not seamless. As Paul had turned in his convoluted bed sheets, his ankle had caught and as the pillow flew to its target, Paul tumbled off the bed back first.

"Fuckin' hell!" yelled Ringo, who had been awoken from Paul's shrill scream as he plummeted from the bed and the resulting thud. "What are you doing, McCartney?"

Paul, whose back created a ninety degree angle with the bed and whose head lay on the firm carpeting, tried to exert enough force with his arms to push himself onto the bed. Instead, his elbows buckled, and the rest of his body (as well as half the bed) collided with the floor.

Ringo chortled and made no offer to help. After all, he was, as he would later tell the others, half asleep at the time.

Once Paul had untangled himself, he frantically tried to explain what had happened, "When I woke up, I heard this horrifying growling noise so assuming it was some carnivorous creature, I tried to fight it—"

As he spoke, Paul glanced around the room in an attempt to locate the carcass of the creature. He knew he had defeated it because it had stopped growling and before it had been growling at regular intervals. . . .

Ringo shook his head and chuckled a bit. He figured Paul had been having a vivid dream. As he stretched, he noticed a random object on his bed: "Hey, McCartney, why is your bleedin' pillow on my bed?"

A red tint flustered on Paul's chubby cheeks. Paul realized what—or who—the monster was. He stood up and began nervously resituating his bed sheets. "Dunno, mate."

"Ugh! It's all wet too. Did you swallow a fuckin' ocean before your kip?" Ringo dropped the pillow on the ground, his face scrunched up in disgust.

"Least I don't snore like an underfed creature."

"What was that?"

"Nuttin'."

Paul picked up his soggy pillow and set it neatly on his bed. He didn't drool. It must have landed in the "creature's" mouth or knocked a glass of water over because Paul McCartney _**doesn't**_ drool.

End of Dream 2 (Maybe)

Author's Note: If you didn't understand it, the creature was Ringo snoring! :D Um, yeah, random and not very well-written, but hopefully you still liked it. . . . Maybe, I'll come back, fix it up, and add the dramatic part to it if I have time in between _Hide Your Love Away_ and my awesome new project ;)

Review if you please! ^.^


	3. Dream 3: A Hard Day's Night

I'm Only Sleeping

By Hoshi Nagaiki

**IMPORTANT A/N (PLEASE READ!): Hello all! I haven't been on here for a very long time, and I just wanted to explain why. First of all, I've had a lot of academic stuff going on, but secondly, I have contracted the writer's second worst enemy (the first being writer's block) carpal tunnel syndrome. DUN DUN DUN!**

**What that means is basically I can't type for long periods of time until I get better, so even though I have story ideas, I can't write them down. IT SUCKS! D: **

**Hopefully, I will be better soon, but until then don't expect anything. Anyways, my wrist is really starting to hurt so hopefully, I will talk to you guys later! Here's a small drabble I wrote many months ago:**

Dream 3

A Hard Day's Night

Let it be known throughout the land that George Harrison is bored of parties! Every night is always the same. People ogle at him and ask him, "What's it like to be you?" Birds throw themselves at him, batting their eyelashes and begging for just one night. It had all been good fun once upon a time, but now Cinderella had had too many midnights and lost glass slippers for it to be a proper adventure.

The youngest Beatle pushed his way past a bulky security guard and into a dark alleyway that smelled of booze and vomit. How delightful. In lack of better things to do, George lit a cigarette and exhaled a puff filled of the stress that his dreams had caused.

"Ah, young Harrie's come out to play," a shapeless voice mocked from the shadows.

"Shut it, John."

"So very rude." George could now make out his friend's outline. His hawkish eyes gleamed in the tiny cigarette light, and George wondered if John had ventured out here for the same reason. Within the next second, he received his answer: "Mind, lighting me up, son?"

A/N: So what did you think? Remember, it's a drabble; not a real story. Please review! :D


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